Hard to tell
Or recognize a sign
To see me through
A warning sign
First the thunder satisfied
If the past it will not lie
Then the storm
Torn asunder
The future you and I get blown away
In the storm
In a lifetime
And as the rain it falls
Begin again, as the storm breaks through
Heavy in my heart
Believe the light in you
So the light shines in you
Without color, faded and worn
Torn asunder in the storm
The music, soft at first, drifted upstairs on the chilly breeze.
The quiet sounds of a piano wafted through the house. The notes scattered; some out to the window to fly free, others to hide themselves in dark, musty corners.
Down the stairs soft footsteps fell, becoming slower and slower as they reached the ground floor. The owner of the feet hesitated at the bottom of the staircase, hand lingering nervously on the banister. The piano's music had gotten louder, wilder, more violent. As the spier drew nearer, the source of the music became apparent. Slender, pale fingers flew over the ivory keys. The slumped figure at the piano was playing as though his life depended on it, as if he were performing for a huge crowd instead of an empty manor.
"Master Malfoy?"
The sudden break in music sounded rather strange in the midst of harmony. The playing faltered noticably. A few more notes were recovered before the melody became softer, the intensity dampening a bit.
"What?" The voice was drawled, cold, strained. A shadow at the stairs, a girl, took a few tentative steps towards the performer.
"Master Malfoy, your father wishes to speak with you." At this, the quiet playing came to a halt. There was a tense, thick silence. The girl, shadows darkening her face, opened her mouth to speak again. She was interrupted by the sudden scream of chords as a pale fist crashed down on the keys. The girl jumped visibly. The figure at the piano turned slightly, his silhouette etched against the shiny wood of the instrument. It was a severe profile, hard and taut. His skin was almost surprisingly pallid, strands of fair hair falling in his face. He certainly looked the part of a maddened composer.
"I'll... I'll tell him you're busy." The girl turned to leave.
"No." The word was cold, bitter. He shook his head a little. "Tell him I'll be up in a moment," muttered the musician. The girl nodded slightly, placing her foot on the first step.
"Yes, sir. I will." She whirled and retreated up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The shadow, forsaken at the piano, let out a small sigh and struck one last key.
"Damn," he whispered, then pushed the stool out and stood. Slowly, silently, he ascended the staircase, that last note ringing in the halls of Malfoy Manor.